


Love Wins

by The0verboss



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: 2020, 2020 election - Freeform, Fluff, Kissing, M/M, No beta we fall like Crowley, fix-it?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-08
Updated: 2020-11-08
Packaged: 2021-03-08 22:06:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,180
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27453952
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The0verboss/pseuds/The0verboss
Summary: An angel in Soho is watching the telly, when an AWOL demon wanders in with a basket of treats and a plan to stop the apocalypse (also known simply as 2020) again.This is anotherwellkeptsecret’s fault. And if they don’t read it that’s fine but I needed to get it out of my head.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 1
Kudos: 11





	Love Wins

**Author's Note:**

> Wrote this on my phone hiding in the bathroom.

_“...call the election for Joe Biden…” **bzzt**_

In a bookshop in Soho, there’s an angel who for the last hour has been sitting, with a discrete little smile, watching the telly. It’s an old set up, a small, grey box on a rolling stand he seldom wheels out. It doesn’t even have color picture. And it’s never been plugged in. But it works because when a certain Demon dropped it off in 1958, touting it as a great little piece of technology well, it must have known what would happen if it didn’t work. It only has one nob, but Aziraphale has never needed to change the channel. It’s always the right one. 

He’s used it more this year than he expected, more than ever with Lockdown, and well everything else. The year of our Lord 2020, has given him more than a little anxiety over what he and Crowley did with the anti-Christ, a tingling fear that the apocalypse had not in fact been averted, nor could it be. And with his favorite demon AWOL since July and no customers to serve as distraction he’s been left to stew. Alone.

“Well they do seem excited about this at least. Dancing in the streets. Waving flags.” The habit of talking to himself is new, he doesn’t like it, but if he didn’t talk to himself then he’d have said nothing for months. “I do hope they don’t catch this dreadful plague.” 

“Don’t worry, Angel, I’m sure they’ll be fine”

Aziraphale doesn’t need to breathe but he gasps anyway, delighted, surprised and finally relieved. 

“Crowley!” 

He shuffles, quickly from between the bookshelves and stacks and tables to where, yes. Yes! That is his demon. A sliver of night sky, topped with red hair, sunglasses pushed up on top of his head and a crooked grin on his face. There’s a leather jacket swung over his left shoulder and a picnic basket in his right hand. 

Aziraphale flings his arms around him before he can remember his dignity. But sod it he has...

“Hello angel, did you…”

“Yes, you fiend I missed you! The world has been in a dreadful state. Oh! You changed your hair!”

“Ah well you know got a bit long in lockdown. And then I went for a bit of a holiday.” Crowley says, rubbing a hand over the shaved bit of his head. The undercut as a style was still going strong in the Colonies and well it did look good both up and down. 

Aziraphale frowns at this, even as his own hand reaches up to pet the soft red fuzz.“I’d have gone with you.”

“Nah, turned into work. Didn’t get to have even a lick of fun, promise.”

“If you say so.” He’s still frowning, but his other arm has not yet let go of the demon, so Crowley figures he isn’t really that mad. 

“Now now, Don’t be like that, or you won’t get the present I brought.” He teases and Aziraphale’s eyes cut quickly toward the picnic basket.

“Oh! Well, why don’t you come in and regale me with your tales of wiles. I’ll get the wine?” 

“Something light, and fruity.”

It doesn’t take them long to get situated on Aziraphale’s back room floor, a blanket laid out. The contents of Crowley’s picnic basket are a bit of a wonder. Firstly there’s glitter everywhere. And secondly, nothing in it seems to be from the same place. West Coast oysters. New England Lobster tail. Midwest cheeses. Large, ripe, Georgia peaches. 

“Apparently it’s not true that what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas. Here, let me.” He says lifting a peach and blowing gently to make sure it’s clean. “Go ahead, they are quite good Angel.”

Aziraphale’s eyes cut back to his old little TV and then to the demon offering him the piece of fruit. He thinks about Eve. About the children in Mesopotamia. 

“It was you, you wicked thing. You’ve been in the states!” 

“Well yea.” Crowley says with a shrug. “But no. It wasn’t me, it was them. The humans. I’m not gonna be another guy that takes credit from where it’s not due.”

“But you-“

“Fomented. A bit.” He says and sips his wine. “Great part of being on our side though. Foment what I want, where I want. Are you going to eat this peach or not?”

Aziraphale can’t keep the smile off his face as he takes the peach, slipping his other hand into Crowleys before the demon can retract it. It’s a lovely color, and big, fuzzy. Juicy when he finally takes a bite. It tastes hopeful and Aziraphale sighs. Content for the first time in months. 

“You know they’re actually reporting that Pennsylvania is-“

Crowley snorts and looks away from him.

“Yea yea everyone’s a critic. Oyster next?”

Crowley asks but when he lifts the half shell to offer it, he’s stopped by the look on Aziraphale’s face. It’s hungry certainly but not one the angel usually wears to the table. No no, this is a look that he’s only seen a handful of times.

“Actually, darling.” The angel leers. “I thought I might have you.” 

Crowley hiccups and in moments finds himself flattened to the floor, crushed beneath 15 stone of amorous angel. It’s bliss. Aziraphale kisses him with quick little pecks all about his face before settling at his mouth, lips and tongue peach flavored and lovely. 

They’re interrupted when the phone, hidden away in Crowley’s new leather jacket, pings. 

“Oh, hey, hold that thought.” He says, slithering out from under the confused and perturbed angel.

“Crowley?” Aziraphale watches as Crowley grabs the jacket and pulls the phone out, fingers tapping and scrolling. “Crowley!”

“Sorry, looks like there’s news from Russia and oh! Well there you go Nevada!” Crowley’s grin stretches til it has to change its name to a smile and he looks up at his angel and squints. “You know let me try something.”

He scrambles back onto the blanket near his perturbed angel, phone in one hand, eyes set with devious intent. His free hand slips behind Aziraphale’s head and he brings his new smile back to its home against the angel’s lips. One kiss then two, then a long third draught. 

The phone pings again. And when he looks down there's something, something about a vaccine. 

“I told you I could have gone with you.” Aziraphale says knowingly, his eyebrow arched testily. Crowley huffs a soft laugh and rubs his nose against Aziraphale’s until his expression softens. 

“Well alright, where should we go next then? Your choice, there’s plenty of places that could use…”

“Upstairs.” Aziraphale says, pulling his demon back to him once again. 

“Oh. Well yes-“

“And then Poland. But you have to wear your mask. We can get Pierogi.”

“Anywhere you’d like. Anything you’d like.”

“Well upstairs is a bit of a walk.” Aziraphale pouts, leaning back against the blanket and pulling Crowley on top of him. “And you did set up this lovely picnic.” 

“Here it is then. Another peach?”

“Fiend. Don’t mind if I do.”


End file.
